The Prisoner (1979) (3 page)

H
e opened the door and went out.

The rain had stopped and a cool golden light shone on the whitewashed buildings. Drops clung like crystal to tree limbs, sparkling in the sun. And in the fragile, translucent air even the distant, gabled skyline was clear and sharp.

Then a cloud rolled before the sun, plunging the Village into shadow.

Something scraped, struck metallically behind him. He turned. The long bony fingers of a branch stirred against his window. It would have to be pruned, of course, otherwise it might shatter the pane during a storm.

He moved down the moist, gravelled lane towards the green.

Number 105 was already out, stooping over the roses in a far corner of her lawn. A drab brown coat hung round her shoulders and flapped in the wind.

‘Guten Morgen,’
he said.

She did not turn or seem to hear.

The sea wind touched him, acrid and strong. He slipped his topcoat on and cinched it tightly, thrusting his hands in the pockets for warmth.

Number 237 emerged from a house, rod and reel in hand.

‘Good morning, Number Two Thirty-seven.’

The man looked up, a frown wrinkling his brow, sun striking flame from the fish hooks in his hat. ‘Oh, it’s you, Number Six.’

‘Going fishing?’

He grimaced, speaking slowly, reluctantly. ‘Yes, with Number Eighty-seven. On the boats. Sort of a holiday. Been planning it a long time. Damn rain. Special permission from Number Two himself. Not going to let the weather stop us. Must run, you know.’ He set off down the road, not looking back.

Ting-a-ling-ling.

The new proprietor put down a pipe and stood up. ‘Yes? It’s Number…’

‘Six.’

‘Six. Yes, of course. Come about your order I imagine.’

‘Has it come?’

‘Part of it. Humm. Yes, part of it.’

That’s never happened before.’

‘No. I dare say it hasn’t. Rather unusual I should think.’

‘How many have come in?’

‘Six dozen. Six dozen all together.’

‘Have you reordered?’

‘Yes; expect I’ll hear something most any day now.’

‘Could you send a dozen round my way this afternoon?’

‘Can’t say, Number Six. Really can’t say. My assistant’s quit. Gone into film-making.’

‘Yours too?’

‘Yes. I heard tell Number Eighty-seven’s quit yesterday.’

‘Curious. I’ll come back myself. About a quarter to five.’

‘Very good. Be seeing you.’

‘Be seeing you.’

Ting-a-ling-ling.

It had grown darker, greyer outside, and a chill mist fell, descending on neck and brows. He turned up the collar of his coat and moved quickly across the green, soggy turf.

‘Hey, lad, wait up.’

He turned. The Admiral hurried towards him, brandishing his cane for emphasis.

‘I had—’

‘Expected to find me home, no doubt.’ The old man stopped and caught his breath. ‘Would have been too, but my charwoman didn’t come. Had to go out myself. Weather like this is no good for a man my age. It’s mortal cold, Number Six. And the cold hurts. My bones ache and I feel a touch of fever. Still up to a game of chess though. Nothing better. A warm fire, a drop of wine, and an afternoon with a pleasant companion. That’s the ticket. Come on.’

‘My place or yours? Mine is closer.’

‘Mine. Mine, of course. Expecting a visitor.’

‘Who?’

They started across the green and the mist condensed, became rain.

‘Eh, lad? What’s the matter? You’re looking thoughtful again. Dangerous sign. I’ve marked it before. Bound to get you into trouble.’

His hand indicated the Village. ‘What more trouble could there be?’

Don’t say that lad.’ The Admiral shuddered. ‘Don’t say it. You’re bound to find out if you ask. I always have and I’ve never liked the answer.’

They let themselves into a small, brick cottage set towards the southern edge of the Village. A great fire roared in the hearth and he was warm almost before they had entered. Papers, glasses and ashtrays were scattered around tables, desk and floor.

‘Damn woman always comes Thursday. Why didn’t she come today?’

‘Didn’t you call her?’

‘No answer.’

Then he remembered. ‘Isn’t Number One Hundred five your charwoman?’

‘Eh? Yes, yes she is. Why, lad? Have ye seen her?’

‘This morning, pruning her roses. I called to her, but she didn’t answer.’

‘Maybe she’s heard.’

‘Heard what?’

The Admiral settled back and narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me, you really don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘You’re
persona non grata
these days. There’s a new Number Two and he’s put it out that you are no longer to receive special treatment. I think he let it be known that he didn’t consider you exactly kosher, not mutual, you know. That anyone seen with you might be suspect too.’

‘What about you?’

‘Bosh. An old man like myself? No one pays any attention to me.’

‘Thank you, Admiral,’ he said.

‘Ah…here. Set up the board, while I find the wine.’

They played for some half-hour in silence.

‘You there, Number Six. We know you’re there. We know everything about you.’
The television across the room had come on, and a man’s face took form. Though the background (a wall-sized bookcase and lamp) were in normal colour, the face had a bluish, almost purple cast, lips dark as dried blood. The man had close-cropped hair, a bullet shaped head, small feral features and a sharp smile.

‘Not everything surely?’

‘We’ve had enough of your boarding-school humour, too. Times have changed. We can no longer afford the freedom you enjoyed in the past. We’ve allowed you certain privileges before. That’s over now. You’ve got to get in line like the rest of us. The age of the individual is past. This is the age of the common man. There was room for your kind once. No more. We must all march together, the same step, the same direction, the same goals. This is the road to progress.’

‘An excellent move, Admiral. I have rarely seen a rook used to such advantage.’

‘Nothing to it, lad Just a sharp eye and an orderly mind.’

‘Number Six, answer me. This minute! I want to talk to you. In fact, I want to see you right now, in my office.’

‘Might I have another glass of wine?’

‘Certainly, Number Six. Allow me.’

‘You too, Number Three Hundred seven. We’ve had our eye on you for quite some time. You had better mend your ways.’

‘Number Three Hundred seven. Is that your number? I didn’t know that.’

‘Just call me “Admiral”.’

‘Of course.’

‘The world has been tamed. There is no room left for rebels. We have a peaceful Village. Our citizens are content. I will not allow you to disrupt them. You’re setting a bad example for our youth. They are becoming upset and uncertain. We cannot allow that. You must be stopped.’

‘Excuse me a moment, lad.’ The Admiral rose and went into the kitchen. He came out carrying a large pewter vase. He tilted the television set face down.

‘What are you doing, Number Three Hundred seven? You can’t shut me off
—’

The Admiral poured the water from the vase into the back of the set. There was a sharp glare of electricity and the voice went dead.

‘We can expect a repair crew momentarily.’

‘Right you are, lad. They won’t leave you alone a minute in this damned place.’

The doorbell rang.

‘Good after—’ She caught herself and stared up at him through the darkened lenses of her glasses.

‘Number Six,’ the Admiral said, coming forward. ‘And this is Number Seven. She’s a newcomer.’

They made themselves comfortable.

‘You surprise me, Admiral’

She lifted her sunglasses and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘The Admiral’s been good to me. I ran into him my first day here. I was upset.’ She had fine, sharp features, clear youthful skin, and wistful, disappointed eyes.

‘Eh? That’s all right, lass. Think nothing of it. We were all put off a bit, our first day here.’

‘Your television…have you dismantled it? I tried that with mine, but they came right away and repaired it. There’s no way to shut it off.’

‘A little butter to make it run smooth.’

‘Yes.’ She gave him a final, wondering glance and then replaced her glasses. ‘It is rather Alice in Wonderlandish, Number Six.’

‘You’re an American?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s an—’

Outside they heard the high, piercing warble of a repair truck.

The door was flung open and four men came in: two of them wore blue uniforms and severe expressions; the other two wore rumpled green jumpsuits and carried rectangular metal repair kits.

‘Number Six?’ said one of the men in blue.

The repairmen went to work on the set.

‘You, mate. I’m talking to you.’ He pointed a hairy finger.

‘Yes.’

‘Come with us.

‘All right.’ He turned to the girl. She tilted her head up to look at him. His reflection stared back from the lenses: a tall substantial looking man in a dark suit. ‘Number Seven.’

‘Number Six,’ she replied.

‘Thank you, Admiral. I enjoyed the game.’

‘I’ll see you later, lad.’ The old man’s eyes were apprehensive.

‘Be seeing you.’

‘Come on, mate.’

N
umber 2 looked up, frowning. ‘Good afternoon, Number Six. I trust you were not inconvenienced.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Good. I’ll take that as a sign of co-operation. I shall expect to see a great deal more of it from you, now that I am in office.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Should he? or was this just one more slight-of-hand? Then, for a moment, he could almost (like a ghost image in the far recesses of his mind) remember this face, this voice, this precise tilt of head and gleam of demonic eye. Then, as he reached, it was gone, like mist, before daylight of reason.

‘No.’

‘I was—’

Number 4!

‘—Number Four then.’

Yes. And for a moment the period stood out with utter clarity. There was a sense of water, the sea, a small boat, a quarter mile of dirt track, the use of his car…Realities he could almost, but not quite make come clear, but which, if he could penetrate their centre, would be his. Then the vision was gone, only a dim impression remaining like a hauntingly familiar scent.

‘You weren’t so highly placed then.’

‘I am now. That is what concerns us. That and your intractable attitude. My predecessors have been too lenient with you. They sought to win your co-operation with kindness. I’ve had experience with your peculiar kind of mentality before. I know how to deal with it. You will co-operate or you will obey, but you will change. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Quite.’

‘But’—his voice was built for harshness; it could not easily make the transition to conciliation—‘things could be made easier for you. You could be set free. If only—’

‘I’d tell you why I resigned?’

‘I don’t like that attitude of yours, Number Six. And I intend to do something about it.’ He looked back down at some papers. ‘Dismissed.’

T
he rain fell heavier and heavier, whispering over the ground and drawing premature twilight across buildings and shrubs. Purple clouds boiled across the sky, running before the wind. Leaves whipped up about him and the rain stung his face.

He turned the collar of his coat up against his neck and went down the street to the tobacco shop. It was dark and shuttered, a
CLOSED
sign hanging in the window. He glanced at his watch: four thirty-five.

He walked down away from the shop and went home.

Number Seven was waiting on the steps.

M
ay I come in?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I was curious. Exactly what
do
they do when they are displeased?’

‘It depends.’ He took her coat and put it in the closet, switched on the stereo.

‘On what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t seem to have come into any harm.’

‘Not this time.’

They sat down.

‘You have before?’

‘On occasion.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Would you care for tea, a drink?’

‘Not now, thank you.’ She took off her glasses. ‘In a while.’

‘I started to ask you something earlier.’

‘Yes…Number Six is it? I’m not very good with numbers.’

He smiled.

She laughed and crossed her legs. ‘Yes, it is rather absurd, isn’t it. I wasn’t very good with names either. Just faces.’

‘Number Six.’

‘Of course. I always remember them when I hear them and think myself a fool for forgetting.’

‘How—’

‘How did I come here?’ She raised her eyes and met his. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing. You see, I haven’t learned much, really. Nobody here will talk, except the Admiral. I like him. He’s the only person I’ve met here I feel I can trust.’

‘I feel very much the same.’

‘And I haven’t been able to get in touch with the authorities—Number Two, I think he’s called.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s been rather hard, all in all. I tried to get out, of course, but that’s almost impossible. There’s no train or bus or car. And when you try to walk out, those…I don’t know—they’re like balloons, only I think they’re alive—they stop you. And they’re heavy.’

‘Guardians.’

‘Is that what they’re called? How appropriate. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be any way out, not easily, and the natives won’t tell me anything, and the Admiral’s rather vague. I thought perhaps, well, you looked decisive. That’s a rare quality anywhere. And I thought, Sandra, that’s my real name, Sandra Champaign. Ridiculous isn’t it? But it’s the truth, I swear it. Sandra, I said to myself, maybe he doesn’t know anything, and maybe he does, and maybe he’s one of the ones responsible for your being here, and maybe he isn’t, but you’ve got to talk to someone sometime and he looks worthwhile.’

‘I see.’

‘Who goes first? What’s your name?’

‘You might not believe it either. It’s the British equivalent of John Smith.’

‘Then perhaps we had better stick to numbers.’

‘Perhaps we had, Number Seven.’

‘I’ll go first, if you like, but I’d like that cup of tea, now.’